Remembrances of Sunday
by theicemenace
Summary: Reacting to the death of Carson Beckett.
1. Teyla

**A/N:** No Beta. All mistakes belong to moi. The dialogue came from GateWorld.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Teyla**

Though it was quiet in the Infirmary at the moment, the sound of machines and occasional moans of pain reminded one that not long before it had been a bustling center of activity. Several people had died and more were wounded. The physical injuries would quickly heal, but the emotional injuries would last much longer. The death of Carson Beckett would take the greatest toll. The chief medical officer was loved by all who knew him, even those who would never admit to it even under oath.

Teyla turned back the covers, sat up and eased her legs over the side of the bed just as John approached. He looked handsome in his dress blues though she barely noticed.

"Where do you think you're going?" 

With a small grunt of pain, she came to a sitting position on the side of the bed. "I would like to go to the memorial."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere."

"I am fine." She tried to stand, grimacing with pain.

"Alright. I'll get a wheelchair." He started to turn away.

"No." Her voice was firm. "I would like to stand, as a testament to him." Her eyes met his. Though he tried to hide it, he was affected very deeply by what had happened. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Me?" He made a valiant attempt to convince Teyla that he was… "I'm fine, but I didn't get major surgery two days ago."

The Athosian could always see through him. "That is not what I meant." 

"Well, it hasn't hit me yet. I'm not looking forward to it when it does."

Her eyes dropped to the floor so he wouldn't see the pain. "I feel a great sadness. He…I feel a great sadness." She sighed as John took a step closer.

"Here. I got you." His arm went around her waist as he helped her to her feet and they made their way slowly out of the Infirmary.

~~O~~

Teyla touched the biosensor, her door sliding open showcasing the Athosian touches she'd added since coming to live on Atlantis. John released her so abruptly she stumbled, her hand grasping at his to keep from falling.

"Whoa! Sorry." He kept hold of her until she was stable again. She walked painfully to the closet, took out clothing and tossed it on the foot of the bed. "I'll, uh, wait for you out in the hall."

"You cannot. I require assistance with changing." She almost laughed at the look of panic that lit up his hazel eyes.

"But…"

"John, we are both adults." He didn't respond, though his eyes darted around the room as if seeking escape making her smile for the first time since her injury. "You have seen women undressed before. Perhaps even participated in the…unveiling."

"Well, yeah, but this is…"

"Pretend I am your sister."

John's trapped animal look disappeared, replaced by his usual half-smile. "If you were my _sister_, this would be weird."

"Then imagine that I am your mother."

"Now _that_ would be even worse. Let's go with sister for now."

~~O~~

John lifted the right side of Teyla's scrub top as she pulled her arm down and out. Gathering the material in both hands, he closed his eyes as he brought it up and over her head then down and off of her left arm. He tossed it away then reached for her top on the foot of the bed, tripping on a shoe and bumping his shin on the footboard. "Ow! Crap!" He rubbed the area as he cracked one eye to locate his target then closed it again and turned back to Teyla. Holding the top by the shoulders, he extended it in her direction…or so he thought.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you get dressed."

"John, open your eyes. Please." She sighed deeply. "I have never met people with so many strange ways. If you trust someone with your life, how can you not also trust that person in such a situation such as this?"

"But…" Again he cracked one eye then opened both. Teyla stood with her back to him, the sharp edges of her shoulder blades moving beneath the skin and the ridges of her spine calling out to him to run a finger down them as if along the keys of a piano. He barely managed to stop a loud sigh of relief. "Um, how do we…"

Teyla turned toward him slightly. "Unfasten the back and hold it in front of me so that I can put my arms into it…I can only lift my left arm a few inches. That side must be lower…" After several abortive attempts, she faced him yanking the garment from his hands. When she turned, he immediately closed his eyes again. "John, this _will_ not work if you cannot _look_ at me."

"Okay, but remember, I'm a guy so don't take it the wrong way if things…" he waved a hand helplessly.

"You are already forgiven. Now we must hurry. The service will be starting soon."

Cautiously he did as she told him. Involuntarily, his eyes dropped down to her bare chest then quickly back to her face. It was difficult not to look at her because she was much shorter than he. She was right though, and with his eyes open he was now easily able to help her into the top. He moved behind her again and did up the back. It came down just low enough to cover the incision while still leaving a portion of her midriff bare.

Before he knew what she intended, both hands pushed the waistband of her scrub pants down to her hips, inching them lower with just her right hand when pain twinged along her left side. They'd just reached her thighs when John grabbed the sides and slid them down to her feet where she stepped out of them. His head turned to the side so he wouldn't be looking right at her uncovered backside, he moved the scrubs out of the way to keep her from tripping. Going back to the bed, he looked around but didn't see what he was looking for. "Um, Teyla, where're your, um…"

He made a vague gesture that she didn't comprehend, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. "My what?"

John motioned to the lower half of his torso. "_You_ know…"

"I am sorry. I do not understand."

Rubbing his forehead as if a headache were coming on and trying to look at the floor instead of at her, he mumbled, "Underpants."

"Under…I do not…_oh_, you mean garments worn _under_ the clothing." One eyebrow lifted in amusement. "My people do not wear them." She looked at the top of John's head when he made a choking sound, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. "John, are you alright?"

"Peachy." He gathered the material of one pants leg to make it easy for her to put her left foot into the hole while she balanced herself by holding onto his shoulder. Repeating on the right, he stood up, holding onto the waistband of the pants and bringing them up to her waist. She turned around and he quickly fastened them.

Using one foot, she nudged the mate of the shoe he'd tripped over from under the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into them then going into the bathroom. She waited but he didn't join her. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to brush my hair. Please."

~~O~~

She grinned to herself when she heard John mumble something that sounded like "oh, crap" just before he came up behind her. He took the brush from her hand as she waited patiently for him to start. In the mirror, she saw him pause just for a moment then felt his hand slip between her hair and her neck, his knuckles grazing the skin there and holding the thick strands. With an expression of intense concentration, he began to brush her hair, the strokes gentle yet firm, starting at her scalp and continuing to the end as if he'd done this before. His reflection told her his mind was on his task though she could tell he wasn't seeing _her_. He confirmed her assessment moments later.

"I, uh, used to do this for Nancy when we were first married. She had hair down to her waist, dark brown and just a little wavy, especially on the ends, and very soft." He paused and she saw a nostalgic smile come to his lips before he resumed. "She, uh, got tired of taking care of it and cut it to her shoulders. It just wasn't the same after that. The hair, I mean. Not our marriage, although it, uh…"

"I am sorry that it did not work out for the two of you."

As if suddenly realizing that he'd given away more of himself than he meant to, he cleared his throat and laid the brush on the counter. "All done." He led her out to the hall, she tucked her right hand into the crook of his arm, leaning on him as they walked to the transporter together.

In the Gate Room, she reclaimed her hand and went to take her place between Rodney and Ronon. She stood straight and proud even though it hurt to do so. Looking to her right she could see Radek, Major Lorne, Amanda Cole, and others whose names she could not immediately recall. She already knew the room was filled to capacity, a tribute to the man that Carson had been.

Elizabeth stood beside the casket draped in the Saltire, the national flag of Scotland, a white cross on a field of blue. Though she could not see the faces of the others, she knew they all felt the same sorrow that she did. Now and then, the sound of sniffling could be heard during Elizabeth's speech.

But the words didn't matter. All that mattered was that the universe had lost one of the kindest, bravest souls she'd ever known.

Never had the sound of the bagpipes been more evocative, the haunting notes filling the Gate Room and moving beyond signaling the end of one journey and the beginning of another.


	2. Elizabeth

**A/N:** No Beta. All mistakes belong to moi.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Elizabeth**

Standing with the rest of the Science and Research team, Mike Branton kept his eyes and ears on Elizabeth as she solemnly spoke about their Chief Medical Officer and how much he'd meant to her, to all of them. He hadn't known Carson well as he'd seldom been sick and had only been on a few offworld trips, and never with Sheppard's or Lorne's teams. With an internal chuckle, he thanked God for small favors.

The speech ended, the bagpipes played and Carson's casket was returned to the planet of his birth. The 'gate shut down and one by one, everyone left. To talk, work, cry, comfort each other, whatever was needed to get by until the grief lessened enough to allow them to be themselves again. Except one.

Elizabeth.

Their leader stood for a long time watching the inactive Stargate. He couldn't tell what she was thinking from her expression. Or rather, lack of one. She took a deep breath, let it out and climbed the stairs to her office where Mike knew she would bury herself in work, never once allowing the sorrow to overtake her. But he knew that bottling it all up inside was not good. He'd watched his brother do it when their father had died.

Eventually Tom had exploded taking a sledgehammer to their dad's beloved and painstakingly restored Palladium Silver 1970 Pontiac Judge Ram Air III hardtop. When Mike tried to stop him, he'd cursed and screamed at him, even tried to hit him. Then just as suddenly, he stopped and the tears had come. Sitting on the oil stained floor of Dad's workshop, they'd cried together.

~~O~~

While Elizabeth waited for her workstation to power up, she rested her elbows on the desk head in her hands. It was time to write up her report of the incident. Something she'd put off for the past two days and could no longer.

The musical tones of activation brought her head up just as Mike walked in. She watched him stand in the doorway, his all-knowing gaze not leaving her for a second. "Mike…"

"Elizabeth…"

She didn't continue and neither did he so she opened the file and began typing. After just a few seconds, her fingers faltered coming to a stop. Her fists slammed down on the keyboard. "Dammit!"

"And there it is." Suddenly, he was beside her, taking her hand. "Come with me."

"But I…" she gestured at the battered laptop but didn't protest when he led her out the back exit, down the hall and up the stairs to the nearest transporter. A moment later they were standing in front of a closed door. "This isn't my room."

He touched the biosensor and drew her inside. The door closed again before he spoke. "It's mine." Going to the bed, he pulled the pillows from under the quilt and laid them on top. He reached out but she didn't come to him.

"Mike, I don't think…"

"And you shouldn't. Now is the time for feeling." He turned her, exerting slight pressure on her shoulders forcing her to sit on the side of the bed. Squatting in front of her, he removed her shoes then helped her out of her jacket, pleased that she was no longer protesting. "Left or right?"

"Pardon?"

"Left or right side?"

Her eyes finally met his letting him see the surrender in their brown depths. "I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Lay down." But she stayed sitting, both hands gripping the side of the mattress. "Look, Liz, this isn't about _us_. This is about _you_, about a friend offering comfort and having it taken without worrying about gossip or if it'll lead to something more." Mike removed his own jacket, toed off his shoes and lifted her legs onto the bed. He circled around to the other side and lay beside her waiting.

His patience was rewarded when Elizabeth rolled over to face him, cuddling into his side, her head on his shoulder, the dark brown curls tickling the side of his neck and her hand resting on his chest. Sliding his arm around her back to pull her close, he kissed her on the forehead.

Before long, she relaxed against him, a long sigh escaping. It ended on a sniff. Just one. It was followed a short time later by another and another until he felt wetness seeping through the cotton of his shirt. The tears eventually gave way to sobs as she clutched him tighter.

Mike didn't say a word, just rubbed her back soothingly letting her get it all out and eventually she did. But when she tried to push away, he held on and once again she relaxed into his comforting presence and finally fell asleep.

He touched the light control, plunging the room into darkness except for the moonlight peeking in through the window. The feel of her in his arms and the sound of her steady breathing lulled him to sleep as well.

**A/N:** To see the car, first thank dwparsnip for the use of his favorite muscle car then take the spaces out of this link:

http: / / cgi-bin / ?pow=yes&type=lot&pic= / pow / pow0336


	3. Radek

**A/N:** No Beta so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Radek**

Radek looked up as Carson came into the room where the chess club had set up for the day. Moving quietly past the occupied tables the medical doctor came to his side just as his opponent huffed in annoyance.

"Son of a bitch! Stop that!"

"Stop what? Winning?"

The man rolled his eyes. "You haven't won yet."

The physicist jumped up to greet his friend. "Carson! You've come to join the chess club?"

"Uh, not quite."

"You've come to watch?" Radek's surprise showed in his voice. He hadn't thought Carson a chess player, though he always appreciated new blood as he was becoming bored with beating the same few people over and over. Rodney, however, was not one of them and Radek didn't bother wondering why.

Carson looked just a little uneasy. "Well, uh, no. Actually, Radek, I'm looking for someone to come fishing with me. Rodney bailed at the last minute."

His expression changed to one of frustration on Carson's behalf. "Surprise, surprise."

"I know. Any interest?"

Truly pleased that Carson would ask Radek was sorry he had to turn him down. "I would, but we're playing for trades today, you know? And no one can really beat me so… I've already won a desk fan, Dr. Mallozzi's animé DVD collection…" he lowered his voice and looked at Carson suggestively, "…_and _I got a coupon for a free Swedish massage from Dr. Ambrose."

Impressed and admiring of Radek's skill, Carson said, "Ouch!"

Radek smiled and nodded. "Perhaps we can go fishing next week?"

"Okay, alright. Well, uh, best of luck to you." Carson turned and started away.

"Oh, I don't need luck." Radek looked down at the board and made his move. "Checkmate."

Again, his opponent said, "Son of a bitch!" Angrily, he lay down his king in defeat.

~~O~~

Though he didn't want to look himself in the face, Radek knew he had to if he wanted to look his best for the memorial services. He and Carson had been friends from the first day they'd met at the base in Antarctica though Radek had spoken very little English at that time. Rodney was no help in that quarter but with Carson's assistance, he learned very quickly.

He hadn't known Marine Captain Lenny Wilkerson well as he'd only arrived on Atlantis a few weeks before, replacing Captain Durchenko of the Russian army as the explosives expert. Still, the man deserved to be remembered, not have his death overshadowed by another.

"I should have gone fishing with him," Radek said to his reflection knowing that even if they had gone fishing, he would now be preparing for someone else's memorial. Dr. Cole's most likely as she had been the doctor on call.

He'd tried to stem the flow of anger, but it was a losing battle. He wasn't angry at Carson, at least not yet. No, his resentment was for the Ancients who'd created the device that had produced the explosive tumors. How could people so highly evolved technologically even conceive of something that would kill not only their enemies but themselves as well?

Running a comb through his unruly hair, he sighed. Buttoning his jacket, he made his way to the Gate Room, taking his place between Ronon and Major Lorne as one of the pallbearers. Carson's last wishes hadn't specifically named those he wished to perform this tribute and Radek had been honored when Elizabeth had made the request on Carson's behalf. He'd said yes without reservation, wanting to in some way make up for not being there for his friend. As an homage to man Carson had been, Radek planned on keeping his promise of going fishing as soon as he and the others returned from Earth.

Glancing to the side, Radek watched Rodney standing next to John, hands clasped behind his back. He knew that Rodney's misery was so much more than his own. He also knew that Carson was the youngest of seven children. When they reached Earth and had traveled to Scotland, they would again perform this service for his large family and friends still living there. And though it wouldn't be easy to go through this a second time, he would do it with his head held high, proud to be able to pay tribute to a compassionate, generous and giving soul.

Captain Wilkerson's coffin was carried through the wormhole by his team and Carson's was moved into place. Elizabeth spoke the words they were all thinking, the bagpipes played its mournful tune, and when it was time, he and the others took their places, lifted the flag-draped coffin and carried their friend home.


	4. Evan

**A/N:** Again, no Beta so all the mistakes are mine. I borrowed the quote at the end from ladygris.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Evan**

On a balcony some distance from the central tower of Atlantis, Evan dipped his brush into the paint and carefully added it to the color already present on the canvas. His blue long-sleeved shirt bore multicolored paint stains that attested to the fact that this was a long time hobby and not a recent addition.

Carson watched for a moment before announcing his presence. "You paint!"

"Hey, Doc. Yeah, I paint." His smile and tone spoke of many years of defending this particular pursuit to the rough and rugged soldiers he hung out with.

Coming closer to see better, Carson's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "And you're _good_, too."

Evan's left shoulder lifted modestly. "My mom was an art teacher. It's what we did on weekends. Stopped for a while-didn't really have time for it during basic training, first couple of years on duty-but I'm picking it up again." He gestured, a warm smile on his face. "Hard not to with views like that, huh?"

"Aye. Um, I don't suppose there's any chance you'd like to come fishing with me on the mainland, is there?"

"If you'd got to me earlier, maybe, but I kinda wanna finish this up."

"Och, it looks done to me."

Evan grinned as he touched brush to canvas once more. "That is why _I_ am the painter and _you_ are the doctor."

"_Very_ good point. Enjoy the rest of your day, Major."

"You can count on it."

~~O~~

Towel drying his hair as he left the bathroom, Evan stood near the easel he kept in the corner of his room. It had remained covered since the day Carson had died and likely would for the foreseeable future. That he'd been too busy to accompany the doctor on his fishing trip was a regret he'd have to live with every day of every year until the day he too died.

He pulled on his pajamas and readied the clothing he would need for tomorrow's mission before pulling down the covers and propping the pillows against the headboard. The door chimed as he finished. Checking the time, he knew who it would be. He rushed to answer it, drawing Amanda into the room and his embrace.

They'd become close during the ride to Scotland. And though they'd traveled there to bury a man who'd died in so horrific a way that nothing had remained of his physical body, they'd been welcomed into the Beckett family with open arms. Ronon, John, Amanda, Radek, Rodney and he had been drawn into the large and very loving family as if they'd known them all their lives.

Overwhelming at times, he and Amanda would occasionally step outside just to get a breath of air, and, bless them, they always understood.

She'd managed to keep it all together until that last night when he'd found her on a bench in the back garden under a cherry blossom tree weeping. Taking her in his arms had seemed like the natural thing to do. Her hands had held onto the fabric of his shirt so tightly he thought it would tear. To tell the truth, he'd been about to lose it himself, but comforting her had given _him_ comfort as well, allowing him to stay in control.

Pushing gently out of his arms, she went to the canvas, her hand going to the collar of the blue chambray shirt that hid the half-finished painting.

"Amanda…"

"You know I'm right." Before he could stop her, she whipped the shirt away, but he'd turned his head. "Evan."

She took him by the hand, waiting for him to get it and eventually he did. The painting needed to be completed as a way for him to forgive himself. Finally he nodded. "As soon as I can. Promise."

**Three Weeks Later**

Asking for and receiving approval from his CO, Evan had taken a day off. He put on the paint-stained chambray shirt, taken his paints from the bottom of the closet and carried the easel to the same balcony. He readied his palette, dipped his brush in and began to apply pigment to the empty canvas he'd brought in place of the other.

Inspired, he worked quickly and by the time the sun had begun to set beyond the spires of the city, it was finished. Returning to his room, he affixed a hanger to the wall and hung it above the desk next to the stained glass window that looked out onto the vast ocean that was home to Atlantis.

This one was different than any he'd done before. He'd taken the subjects from memory, painting them as _he_ saw them, happy and laughing. John, Teyla, Amanda, Ronon, Rodney, Elizabeth, Jennifer, and lastly himself with Carson in the center, finishing it off with a quote he'd taken from some forgotten moment in his life.

_Friends _

_Laugh with you _

_Cry with you _

_Get in trouble with you _

_Get you OUT of trouble _

_Are honest with you _

_Love you._


	5. Ronon

**A/N:** Again, no Beta, so all mistakes belong to moi.

Thanks go out to dwparsnip for brainstorming the Satedan mourning rituals. _Je vous remercie,__mon frère._

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Ronon**

Over the intercom John, Rodney, Radek and Ronon heard the Infirmary's lock-down alarms. On the screen, red flashed around the base of the tower where the medical level was located.

Eyes on the screen, John verbalized what they could all see. "He's used his authorization code to seal off the whole level. We can't get to him."

His voice almost frantic, Rodney said, "Carson, you cannot _seriously_ be considering operating on this guy." He paced nearly beside himself with worry for his friend.

Ronon knew that Rodney had compassion for Watson though his words indicated otherwise. But that was Rodney and he didn't scold him for it. None of them did.

Feeling useless in this situation, Ronon watched the computer screen in front of John hoping there would be some way for him to help, but he could make little sense out of what he was seeing. Instinct dropped his right hand to his hip where his blaster usually hung. He could feel his body and mind readying as if for a fight, though how you could fight something the size of a Satedan pitaya fruit he was at a loss to explain, but just in case.

He listened as Rodney and John tried to convince the medical doctor to get out before the tumor exploded, failing miserably. Carson was a doctor first and foremost. He would stay with his patient.

"_Exactly how much time do we think I have?_" The doctor's voice sounded calm and confident. In the background they heard the sounds of medical devices beeping and whirring.

"There is _no way _to know for sure. Look, Hewston was infected at the same time that Watson was and her tumor's already exploded."

"_No time to waste then. Making first incision._"

~~O~~

As Ronon strode through the halls of the city, his face determined, focused, the last words Carson uttered just before a massive fireball erupted and engulfed the cart, the Marine who'd come to his aid and Carson pushed through his mind over and over.

"_We just made the hand-off._"

It angered the Satedan that his friend had been killed though most of his anger was for the Ancestors. Some of it was for Carson himself though he didn't know why. All he knew is that someone he'd respected and cared for was gone.

The Satedan culture dictated that a friend designated by the family of the deceased oversee the preparation of the body for burial. When the smoke had cleared, there had been nothing left to bury but still he watched over the casket being readied as if it would soon be filled.

That done, he returned to quarters and armed himself with his sword, blaster and every knife he possessed, and went to Carson's quarters. There he stood guard for the next twenty-four hours as a deterrent to looters who would take advantage during the family's time of mourning. Not that there was a possibility of it happening in Atlantis, but this was the only way he knew to honor Carson's memory.

~~O~~

No longer possessing a set of traditional Satedan funeral garments, Ronon knew that his every-day wear would have to do for the memorial service. He didn't have much, choosing the items that had the least amount of wear. As a testament to Carson's life as a healer, his weapons would not be carried during the memorial service. Instead, they would be displayed here in his own home.

As he made his way to the Gate Room, he was joined by others. John, Teyla, Rodney, Radek, Evan, Amanda Cole, more and more until the crowd filled the hallway with the sounds of footsteps.

Ronon listened to the words Elizabeth had to say, echoing the sentiments within his own mind. And as the music played, he stepped forward to take his position with the others in the Earth tradition of carrying the honored dead to his final resting place.


	6. Amanda

**A/N:** No Beta. All mistakes belong to me-me-me. The dialogue came from GateWorld.

Sorry it took so long to get to this chapter. It was very difficult to write because Carson replaced Dr. [Amanda] Cole and he died in her place.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Amanda**

The Infirmary was nearly empty so Amanda Cole, the doctor on duty on this day of rest, used the time to get caught up on her paperwork. She paused in her typing, rubbing her forehead with one hand as Carson entered the Infirmary clearing his throat to get her attention.

"Slow day?"

She looked up, surprised. "Carson. What the hell are you doing here? It's supposed to be your day off."

With a sigh that spoke of disappointment, he laid his hand on the back of her chair. "Well, my fishing trip is officially a bust, so I figured I'd come in here and actually catch up on some paperwork for the first time in over a year."

"That's a shame." She was genuinely saddened on his behalf.

"Aye, it is."

Shaking her head at a fresh wave of pain, Amanda went back to work. Though she'd tried to hide it, Carson noticed.

"You alright?"

"A migraine. It's a bad one, actually. I took some stuff, but I can't take any more, with me being on call and everything."

He tapped her on the shoulder, his tone slightly reproving. "You should have radioed me."

"Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I was gonna let you miss that fishing trip. It's all you've been talking about for two weeks."

"Well, I'm not going now, so off you go. I'll cover your shift."

"You sure?"

"Aye. There's nothing happening here anyway. You go take a horse pill and rest." His compassion for her plight shone in his blue eyes.

Not able to help a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh, you're a life saver."

"I know."

Pushing out of her chair, Amanda hugged him and he hugged her back. "Thanks, Carson." She loved Carson like a brother and made sure he knew it. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

~~O~~

Standing next to Evan on the floor of the Gate Room, Amanda assumed the parade rest position just as he did as a way to honor Carson Beckett. She barely heard the words that Elizabeth spoke because the last conversation they'd shared kept repeating in her mind to be followed by the inevitable self-recriminations.

Her superior, her mentor…her _friend_ was dead and it was _her_ fault. _It __should __have __been __me._

She took her place as pallbearer, feeling the weight of the empty casket as they carried it through the event horizon and back to Earth.

~~O~~

Amanda called Jennifer to say she had another migraine. Her friend and the pro tem CMO expressed her sympathy and promised to check on her later in the day though she hoped Jen would be too busy to do so because she'd lied, just as she'd lied on previous occasions.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she went to the closet, rummaging around on the upper shelf until she found what she was looking for. She carried the bottle of Jack Daniels to the bed, pouring several fingers into a glass. Bringing it to her mouth, she tilted it until the liquid touched her lips. Taking a deep breath, she drank down the entire contents in one long swallow then poured another. And another and another until the bottle was nearly empty trying to dull the pain and guilt she was certain would always be present.

If she'd been the type, she might have committed suicide in remorse, but she was a coward. She couldn't end her life in just a single flash of gunfire or a handful of pills. So she would do it slowly, one day at a time, one glass at a time, until it was all over and her death became atonement for her selfishness.

She started to pour the last few drops into the glass, but her hands began to shake as anger and regret warred within her. A moment later, the brown bottle smashed against the wall as her tears flowed freely.

Pushing off the side of the bed, Amanda staggered to the closet and took out another bottle, this time not bothering with a glass. Making her way back to the bed, she slipped and fell to her knees. She stayed that way, her head and arms resting on the edge of the bed. Somehow, the bottle was still in her right hand as she cried, the sound muffled by her grandmother's quilt.

Her door opened a few minutes later though she barely noticed. A gentle hand on her shoulder roused her enough to look up. Evan's face blurred and shifted. "Wha' the hell d' you wan'?" She tried to stand but her legs wouldn't cooperate. With a shrug, she brought the bottle to her lips again only to have it snatched away. "_Hey!_ I'z drinkin' that."

"No. You're _not._"

She reached for it again only to have him lift it even further out of her reach. Not able to hold her head up, she dropped it to the bed again, too drunk to try to stop him as he searched her room.

~~O~~

Evan stopped in the Infirmary to see if Amanda wanted to join him for dinner, surprised that she wasn't there. This was her fourth migraine in the last month, making him doubt that she really was ill. And that's why he was here now.

He capped the liquor bottle he'd taken from Amanda, set it out of her reach then went to the closet and removed the other two bottles he found there. Next he checked the desk, dresser, bathroom, and anywhere else he thought she might have others hidden. He found some empties in the waste basket under the desk telling him he'd been correct in his assessment. When he was done searching, he took the bottles into the bathroom and poured the contents down the drain.

Thinking back to their time in Scotland, he recalled when she'd gotten drunk their last night. He'd found her in the bar at the inn. Taking her back to her room, he'd helped her into her pajamas then into bed. Moving the chair from the corner to over by the window, he had watched over her, eventually falling asleep, awakening when he heard her in the bathroom getting sick. He'd started to leave so as not to embarrass her further, but she'd come out, sheepishly thanking him for his kindness. At the time, he'd thought it was a one-time thing, but now it was apparent that there was more going on.

Getting behind Amanda, Evan put his hands under her arms and picked her up. She could barely stand alone so he kept hold of her, intent on putting her to bed. But she began to fight him, slapping at his hands until he'd almost dropped her. "Amanda, please _stop_. I'm _trying_ to _help_ you."

"Don' _wan__'_ yer help. Wanna be 'lone, jus' me n' m' bottle." He let her go and somehow she stayed on her feet.

Evan tried again to make her get into bed, but she jerked away from him, slapping at his hands when he reached for her. "Don't do this to yourself, Amanda. _Please._"

Her tears started again as she made a soggy laugh. "Have to. Carson's dead an' i'z all my fault. _I_ shoulda died. Not him." Her hand reached for the glass on the table. It still had a little of the liquor in the bottom so he took it away from her making her angry. One of her slaps got him on the cheek though in her condition it didn't do much damage.

"Okay. That's _it!_" Evan wrapped his arms around her and dragged her, literally kicking and screaming, into the bathroom. Holding onto her with one arm, he turned on the shower with the other hand, setting the temperature to cold. "Sorry, but this is for your own good." He pushed her under the water fully dressed. She screeched and fought to get away, but he climbed in with her, his arms holding her tight as the water soaked them both.

Eventually, she stopped struggling and started sobbing. At that point, he turned her into his embrace and just held her against his chest while she got it all out. Her arms went around his waist, gripping tightly to the back of his shirt. When her sobs turned into the occasional hiccup, he eased her away, tilting her head up with a finger under her chin, letting her see the compassion in his eyes. "Better?"

~~O~~

Amanda nodded then turned a puzzled look on him. "Why are we in the shower together?" With a gasp, she looked down, sagging in relief that they were both fully dressed and that she hadn't done something even more stupid than getting drunk…again. She let her head drop to his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. _I__'__m_ not."

Tilting her head back so she could see his eyes again, she felt something change between them. Their closeness since Carson's death had been about one friend being there for another. But in that one instant, it all changed, and she could see he felt it too. Easing out of his arms, she turned off the water and handed him a towel, liking the way the water had darkened his hair, a lock plastered across his forehead. "Um, thanks. I'll just…" she gestured vaguely.

"Oh, right."

Once the door shut behind him, she stripped off the wet clothing and turned the shower back on, letting the hot water warm her chilled skin. When she felt almost human again, she wrapped a towel around her damp body and another around her hair. She brushed her teeth then stepped out into the room where she was brought up short by Evan's voice.

"Oh!"

She'd thought he'd left, but there he was, his back turned as she went to the dresser for her pajamas. "I, uh, I'll be right out." A few minutes later, she emerged to find him still there. "Um, thanks for…"

"You're welcome. I should…" he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

"Evan, I…" She moved over in front of him, still not completely steady, clutching at his arms to keep from falling. He hooked his arm around her waist, guiding her back to the bed. She obediently lay down as he drew the covers over her and dimmed the lights.

"Next time, call me. I'm more than happy to give you a shoulder to cry on whenever you need it." She smiled sleepily up at him when he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead before leaving.

~~O~~

Amanda stepped inside Evan's room, the door closed and he took her in his arms for a quick kiss. She pushed away then went to shower, coming out in her pajamas. As she brushed her now shoulder length hair, she stared at the covered canvas that Evan had never allowed her to see.

She realized that she was tired. Tired of missing Carson, of being sad, and of Evan being sad too. She would always miss her friend and with it would always come the sadness. But she also wanted to get on with her life. Being with Evan was a part of that. He'd helped her to begin the process. Now it was _her_ turn to help _him_.

He took her in his arms again and she let him but just for a while. Pushing gently out of his arms, she went to the canvas, her hand going to the collar of the blue chambray shirt that hid the half-finished painting.

"Amanda…"

"You know I'm right." Before he could stop her, she whipped the shirt away, but he'd turned his head. "Evan."

She took him by the hand, waiting for him to get it and eventually he did. The painting needed to be completed as a way for him to forgive himself. Finally he nodded. "As soon as I can. Promise."

~~O~~

The promise Evan had made that night took some time to follow through on, but eventually the painting of Atlantis was complete and now hung on his wall alongside the one of Carson and his friends. A constant reminder that change is inevitable. You either accept it and move forward, or live your life in regret for all the things that might have been. Evan and Amanda had decided to risk it all and in the process had found love…and forgiveness.


	7. John

**A/N:** You may be wondering why I didn't do a chapter with Rodney. We pretty much saw his reactions in the episode.

Like the previous one, this chapter was not easy to write. Given John's tendency to bury his deeper feelings under a genial façade, I'm guessing that his reaction to the death of Carson Beckett would tend to be extreme, but in a way different than Amanda's.

This is the only chapter that doesn't use dialogue from the episode. Dwparsnip had a peek at it for me.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**John**

_Leave no man behind._

The credo is drummed into each and every member of the military. It motivates the search for those listed as missing in action. The process is costly, time-consuming and frustrating, continuing years and even decades after they've disappeared. But the possibility that there might be closure for the families is worth it.

Sitting with his friends in the plane carrying Carson Beckett back to his family, John thought about all the people he'd left behind over the years. Holland, Sumner, Ford, and now Carson. Not to mention his brother, father and ex-wife. Technically, they hadn't been left behind in the sense meant by the words. After that last argument, he hadn't tried to reconcile but then neither had his father. And he hadn't tried to stop Nancy when she moved out of their home and filed for divorce. He also hadn't made any attempts to contact his brother in a while. In that sense, it felt like he'd abandoned all three of them, left them behind while he played the hero.

The others were sharing stories about Carson, laughing at some of the humorous situations the medical doctor had gotten himself involved in since their arrival in Pegasus. It made him angry.

The man was _dead_. They shouldn't be carrying on as if it were a cocktail party or one of his mother's charity events. Several times they'd tried to draw him into the conversation. He quietly and firmly declined, so they left him on his own.

He'd been a solitary man for many years, and that's how he preferred it. The death of his friend would be dealt with in the way he dealt with most disappointments and defeats, in the privacy of his own room _and_ his own mind.

A burst of unrestrained laughter reached him and suddenly it was more than he could handle. His right hand clenched into a fist as his body readied itself to hit something or someone. To prevent it, he abruptly stood and went down the short hallway to the latrine, locking himself inside. Pacing back and forth in the confined space wasn't very satisfying as he could barely turn around, but it was the best he could do for now. One hand rubbed the back of his neck while the other clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm until it hurt.

Finally he stopped, leaning both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at his own reflection, his mind taking him back to the time he'd been infected with the Wraith retrovirus. His transformation into a bug had creeped him out even more than the thought of being trapped in a roomful of clowns. But in the midst of it all, his friends had been there almost giving up their lives to find a cure. And Carson and his medical team had worked the hardest of all.

~~O~~

_Carson nodded to the guard detail outside of John's quarters. With an internal sigh he took note that there were now four guards instead of two, probably Elizabeth's doing at John's insistence, knowing the Colonel._

_Inside the room, lit only by the light filtering through the windows draped in gauzy material acquired from one of their offworld trading partners, John still sat on the side of the bed faced away from the door. His guitar sat ignored in a corner below the poster of Johnny Cash. _

"_Elizabeth told me what happened." John's voice was calm and coldly matter of fact about the incident, though Carson knew he felt the loss deeply._

"_Walker and Stevens. Good men." _

"_And two more deaths on my conscious." _

"_Aye, I know." Trying to lighten the atmosphere, Carson came around the foot of John's bed. As with Elizabeth the Colonel kept his face turned away. "I would ha' brought ya a beer, but alcohol's contraindicated in yer current condition."_

_Nodding in the direction of his dresser, John indicated a nearly full bottle on the desk. "Tried it. Yakked up everything I'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours."_

"_Not possible, Colonel. You haven't had anything to eat in that time, and what you consumed prior to that has already been digested…I c'n see yer not interested."_

_A shrug of the left shoulder, and John turned more toward the window as Carson came closer. "Not really. I've been, well, I've been having some cravings."_

"_Oh? Let me have a look at ya." Carson took out a small flashlight firmly turning John to face him. Unlike Elizabeth, the medical doctor was prepared for the change in his friend, making no comment as he flicked the light in John's eyes. The one on the left still looked normal, but the right was a yellow slit like a reptile's. The light made him hiss in pain and turn away again. "Sorry, John."_

"_John? Things must be really grim if you're using my first name, doc."_

"_If it disturbs ya…"_

"_No, that's fine, Carson." John gestured in the general direction of the desk. _

_Carson turned a chair around but before he could take his seat, his headset chirped. "Beckett…Aye. I'll be right there. Sorry, Colonel, I've got to be gettin' back to m' research."_

"_Keep me posted."_

"_Aye, I will." When Carson reached the door, he looked back with a sad smile before leaving._

~~O~~

John and the others had been back in Atlantis just over two weeks, and though he still hadn't come to terms with Carson's death, life was, in some ways, getting back to normal. Rodney had saved their collective asses at least twice, Jennifer had taken over as the chief medical officer, Elizabeth had negotiated another alliance and his ass had been kicked twice a week by Teyla and Ronon. The sessions with Lorne had come out a draw on most occasions. Well, except for the times John had cheated.

But that didn't matter. None of it did. Not really, because Carson was still dead and John still hadn't grieved. He could feel the rage at the tragic loss of that life gnawing at him like the creature growing inside John Hurt in the movie _Alien._ Taking long runs and sparring helped, but they weren't enough. He had to constantly rein in his desire to just beat the living _crap_ out of whoever happened to be near when what he really wanted to do was do it to the Ancients who'd created the device in the first place. That they'd all died thousands of years ago and he would never be able to tell them off or watch with satisfaction as his fist hit their faces rankled even more. He finished changing and went for a run.

~~O~~

Rodney watched John head for the upper scaffolding where he and Conan usually went to run. His friend seldom took that run alone and it bothered him that John had been doing it more and more since their return from Earth.

He started to follow but was stopped by Katie reminding him they had a date for dinner. With a deep sigh he changed direction.

~~O~~

The metal scaffolding rang with every footstep, echoing from the walls, ceiling and floor until the area was filled with it. It had been going on for so long that the sounds returning to the source may have been from five seconds or five minutes ago having been bounced so many times the figure approached a number only divisible by the amount of sweat that had gone into making it. There was no way to tell. It just kept repeating until the original was lost.

John had been running for what seemed like hours trying to outrun the anger and remorse he'd sustained in the weeks since Carson's funeral. That the Beckett family had drawn Rodney, Radek, Ronon, Amanda, Evan and he into their midst without reservation had made everything he'd kept to himself begin to float to the surface. With every smile, every hug and every warm handshake it had become harder and harder to push it back behind the wall that kept his emotions in check.

Five miles was normally all he could handle while trying to keep up with Chewy. Today however, he'd passed that mark long ago. Somewhere in the middle of mile seven he began to feel something loosen within him causing him to stumble to a halt at the turnaround.

He finally stopped to rest, grasping the upper rail and panting hard, sweat soaking his hair and clothes. The cool air of Atlantis' environmental systems brushed across the back of his neck making him shiver. He shivered again. And again.

Putting a hand to his face to brush the moisture away, he realized that it wasn't all sweat. He trembled again as an anguished hum pushed its way out of his chest to be followed by another and another until his body shook with the force of his sobs, tears flowing down his cheeks to splash on the metal platform. His legs shook refusing to support him and he sat down hard, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees, just letting the tears fall, doing nothing to stop them.

In the back of his mind, that small part of him that was still able to reason reminded him that the last time he'd cried about anything had been when he knew that his mother wasn't coming home from the hospital the last time she'd gone. The cancer she'd fought for three years had won. And he'd cried then just as he was now, hot streaming tears, rocking to and fro.

But now he wasn't crying _just_ for Carson. He was crying for himself as well.

For the boy who'd lost his mother at the age of ten.

For the teenager who had defied his father by going to Stanford instead of Harvard causing a rift that had never been healed.

But most of all he cried for the man who was so afraid of appearing vulnerable that he never told anyone, family or friend, how he felt, never let them close enough to see the part of him that he'd kept hidden for so long that it was a habit he didn't think he'd ever be able to break.

Eventually, the tears stopped and his arms loosened enough that he could move his legs, stretching them out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. He drew in one last shuddering breath, using the tail of his shirt to wipe away the evidence of his weakness. Turning around, he let his legs dangle off the side, close to twenty meters between them and the floor. Resting his arms on the lower rail he become conscious of the subsiding of the tightness that had surrounded his heart the last few weeks. He no longer felt as if a weight were sitting on his chest.

The slow rhythmic tread of another pair of feet slowly drew closer. One last swipe of his shirt across his face and he turned to greet his visitor.

Rodney came to stand next to John, handing him a bottle before settling down next to him, mirroring his position of both elbows on the rail as they sipped the beer. They stayed just like that, side by side, not saying a word.

**TBC**

**A/N:** The info on the 'leave no man behind' credo came from:

http : / formerspook . blogspot . com / 2008 / 03 / leave-no-man-behind . html (Take out the spaces.)


	8. Carson

**A/N:** Ladygris Beta'd, but most of the mistakes are mine.

~Sandy

**Remembrances of Sunday**

**Carson**

Radek stood on the shore of a pristine lake, rod and reel in hand, a cold beer at his feet. He cast his line, the hook and bobber hitting the surface with a plop. The Czech had taken it upon himself to be the organizer of this little outing in remembrance of Carson Beckett and the special place he'd had in all their lives, not at all surprised that he hadn't had to do more than ask each on his companions.

Another plop signaled that someone else had also cast a line. He glanced to the side and saw Rodney a few feet away, the scent of his special sun block and bug repellant coming reaching him on the gentle breeze. Jennifer stood beside Rodney giving him pointers.

Radek chuckled to himself remembering when the Jumper hatch had begun to close stopping when they heard Jennifer yelling, "Wait! Wait for me!" She'd scurried in through the partially closed hatch to take a seat next to Rodney and that when he finally quit complaining about John making him leave his tablet behind and started paying rapt attention to the medical doctor.

Over his shoulder he could see Ronon making himself comfortable under a tree preparing to take a nap. Not feeling well, Teyla had spread a blanket near the Satedan and sat there just watching the rest of them fish adding the occasional word of encouragement.

John was on the far side of Jennifer sitting in a chair his legs stretched out in front of him, Elizabeth beside him though a little more alert.

Evan and Amanda had set themselves up on KP. At this moment they were digging a fire pit engaging in a friendly shoving match that devolved when Evan "accidentally" got sand in her hair. She growled in pretend indignation and chased him around the trees, into the forest and back to run along the edge of the water laughing.

Evan ran back to the clearing with Amanda hot on his heels only to cause her to shriek when he turned and grabbed her around the waist, picking her up and spinning her in a circle. They stopped suddenly and when Radek and the others turned around the pair were locked in a passionate embrace kissing.

Turning in the other direction, an empty chair sat nearby, rod propped against it, a can of beer in the cup holder. A ratty hat covered in fishhooks hung casually on the back and a fishing vest had been tossed in the seat as if their owner had just stepped away for a few moments.

Hours later they hadn't caught even one fish, but they didn't care. With foresight, Radek had brought several coolers full of food, beer and water. The Mess Hall manager had also packed all the condiments and dishes they'd need for a full day of fishing as well as a bottle of champagne.

At sunset, Radek opened the bottle, they all raised their glasses and he nodded to John.

It took a few moments for the Colonel to get his thoughts together. "Let us never forget the lesson we've learned. Work is important, but time with friends and family is even more precious. We should…"

"Sir? If I may…" Evan interrupted. At John's nod, he continued. "Carson taught me a traditional Scottish toast that might be appropriate." He cleared his throat.

_"May the best ye've ever seen_

_Be the warst ye'll ever see._

_May the moose ne're lea' yer aumrie_

_Wi' a tear-drap in his e'e._

_May ye aye keep hail an' hertie_

_Till ye're auld eneuch tae dee._

_May ye aye be jist as happy_

_As we wiss ye noo tae be."_

There was mild laughter from all punctured by Rodney. "That was the _worst_ Scottish accent I've ever heard!" The physicist cupped his hand around one ear. "Hear that. It's Carson rolling over in his grave." With those last words, the light-hearted mood dissipated like morning mist in the sunshine. Rodney lifted his glass again, the clink of glasses touching in salute, as he simply said, "To Carson."

**The End**

_Dream__as__if__you__'__ll__live__forever.__Live__as__if__you__'__ll__die__today._

~James Dean


End file.
